


Lasta lalaithamin || Listen to my laughter

by pockyowl



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Building a Kingdom, Confused Bard of Laketown, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Fíli & Kíli & Thorin Live, Fíli is a Little Shit, Implied Relationships, M/M, Manipulative Thranduil, Mentioned Kíli/Tauriel, Multi, Nobody is Dead, Post-Desolation of Smaug, Protective Legolas, Romance, Sigrid gets a pint-sized wakeup call, Tauriel can't handle prince Kíli, The Hobbit - Freeform, The Hobbit fix it, The romance will develop trust me, Thorin is a workaholic, Who said romance is dead?, Young Aragorn, teacher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4233309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pockyowl/pseuds/pockyowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is too busy establishing his reign and hiding from his shame to face Bilbo.</p><p>Bard is too caught up in trying to be a good King to see Thranduil is manipulating him.</p><p>Legolas is too concerned in teaching Estel to notice his outlook on life has changed.</p><p>Kíli is too focused on his Princely duties to give Tauriel the relationship she envisioned </p><p>Fíli is too caught up in the pretty Blonde-Princess to do anything useful in Erebor. </p><p>--</p><p>This is BOTFA post-war, where Thorin, Kíli & Fíli all lived to see the end. Relationships will become strained, friendships will be tested and most of all: everyone will find their rightful place. Follow on Tumblr to get future snippets and Hobbit-y goodness <a href="http://pockyowl.tumblr.com/">PockyOwl</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IAmOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmOwl/gifts), [PockyKiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PockyKiss/gifts).



< **Legolas** >

 

Legos took off after hearing his Father's words, not once looking back.

"Emyn-nu-Fuin..." Tauriel breathed later that evening when they'd stopped to make a simple camp in the Mountains of Mirkwood.. "Are we going home?"

"No."

"Then where are we going?"

"I'm not yet sure, though my father told me to find a man called Stryder, the infamous son of Arathorn who is thought to be in Rivendell."

"Son of Arathorn?" Tauriel frowned. "But I heard that Arathorn had no sons?"

"Evidently, that was a lie."

"So many lies and secrets we harbour in this world... It's a wonder we know when anyone is being truthful."

"Are you speaking of your Naugrim?" Legolas questioned lightly, though his question was heavily loaded.

Tauriel's eyes cut towards him before she focused her attention on laying out her blanket.

"He did not need to lie to me; I could see his intent plainly in his eyes after the battle. He plans to help the Dwarven King rebuild Erebor and I... There would be no place for me amongst his people."

Legolas raised a single brow. "Perhaps he might have left his people for you, had you asked it of him."

Tauriel looked up sharply and shook her head.

"I'd have never asked it of him. When I went to visit him briefly in the healing tent I had a talk with your Father. I know the price one must pay for love and I am not sure he was ready to pay that price."

"So you left."

"I left before he could make a mistake-"

"You are not a mistake." Legolas assured her softly. "If he truly loved you then you should have given him the chance to make his own mind on the matter."

"I couldn't-"

"Yes, you could." Rising from where he was knelt Legolas gave his friend a small smile. "You do not belong here with me Tauriel. Not anymore. You belong back there - with him. Let him make his own choices, rather than you predicting them. If he should choose wrong, then there's always a place for you by my side on this journey. But until then..." He shook his head.

"No!" Tauriel stood up quickly. "What are you saying, Legolas?"

"I'm saying you should go find your Aier. Living a life of uncertainty is no life at all. Find out where you stand. You can always come find me in Rivendell, if need be."

"Legolas..."

"Go!" He told her impatiently. "These last few months events must have shown you how fragile their lives are. Who knows what kind of trouble the pint-sized baboon will have gotten himself into whilst you've been gone."

Biting her lip, Tauriel nodded her head and felt a swell of emotion for her friend.

"Thank you, Legolas." She told him quietly. "I shall never forget all you have done for me."

"Nor I of you. We shall meet again, Tauriel, of that I'm sure."

Smiling brilliantly she nodded and ran away into the trees, whilst Legolas relaxed in his makeshift camp. He spent the rest of his journey to Rivendel re-thinking his decision to leave Mirkwood and the consequences that it would have for him in the future. When he did finally arrive, he did so the smiled greetings of ‘Gi nathlam hí’ and ‘Mae g'ovannen!’, though Legolas felt neither ‘well’ nor particually welcome, especially with the way Lord Elrond’s right hand man, Lindir, stared him down when he mentioned wanting a meeting with his Lord.

Sitting at the long table in Rivedell, facing Lord Elrond at last, Legolas wondered this time if following his Father’s words had been wise. Picking up a goblet of wine he took a quick sip, his gaze on the Rivedel Elves playing their instruments softly.

"I believe you have a reason for this visit?" Elrond asked in their Native Tongue blandly as he faced his guest.

"Yes, My Lord, I do." Legolas lowered his goblet. "I come to find the man named Stryder. I know you are harbouring him."

Elrond raised a single brow and turned to share a look with Lindir. Turning back to his guest he inclined his head slightly as he regarded the young Elf, whose resemblance to his Father, Lord Thranduil, was uncanny.

"It seems your Father is still playing spy." He spoke at last with a hint of amusement. "Tell me, Legolas, what your Father told you of _Stryder_ "

"Not much." Legolas admitted, remembering his Father’s short and cryptic words. "Though I am aware he is the son of Arathorn."

"I see." Tapping his long fingers against the surface of the wooden table, Elrond motioned for Lindir to step forward. "Take our guest here to see... Stryder." Lindir inclined his head and waited for Legolas to follow him.

Standing up from the table, Legolas bowed his head to Elrond before following Lindir down a set of stone steps and through the vast city to a courtyard. Inside Legolas could see a young boy of perhaps nine or ten dressed in Elvish garb swinging a wooden sword at a straw target. As Lindir approached, he whistled lowly letting the boy aware of their presence. Lowering his wooden sword the boy turned to face them, panting heavily from exhaustion with his long, wavy brown hair sticking to his sweaty face. His brown eyes flickered between both Lindir and Legolas before he addressed Lindir directly in the language of men.

"Hello, Lindir. Is it time for lunch already?"

"Not yet, little one." Lindir told the young boy softly. "You have a visitor."

Legolas turned to face Lindir sharply before he focused on the young boy once again, taking in his features intently.

"This is Stryder?" He asked Lindir slowly.

"This is _Estel_." Lindir told him simply. "He likes to call himself Stryder, during practice."

"Stryder is a warrior's name." The boy explained to Legolas as though it explained everything.

Struck speechless, Legolas was saved from answering the boy by Lord Elrond's voice.

"I see you are training hard, Estel."

"I am, my Lord." Stryder - Estel - beamed at the Lord of Rivendel. "Maybe I can practice with a real sword soon?"

"Perhaps." Lord Elrond walked towards the boy and ruffled his hair, the gesture affectionate.

"Who is that?" Estel asked, pointing towards Legolas.

With his hand resting on Estel's shoulder - like a Father to a son, Legolas noted - Elrond turned towards Legolas with a small smile on his lips.

"This, Estel, is Lord Legolas Greenleaf. He will be your new tutor."

Legolas raised an eyebrow.

This wasn't how he intended this meeting would go....

 

\-----

 

< **Bilbo** >

 

Dáin Ironfoot snorted as he took in the carnage that was the interior of Erebor, the other Dwarves talking amongst themselves behind him.

“Looks like Smaug did a bit of redecorating.” He commented to Thorin with his usual cheerful disposition. “Can’t say I have a taste for the Dragon’s idea of ‘homely’.”

Thorin, on the other hand, as surly and serious as ever only grunted in response to his cousin’s sarcasm. Bilbo looked between the two cousins before focusing on the pale Dwarven Prince, Fíli.

“Is Kíli alright?” he asked him softly.

“Kíli will be fine. He’s already bragging about the scar he’ll have to show off at the end of all of this.” Fíli shook his head, blond plaits swaying with the action. “The _doh_ doesn’t realise how close the blade came to piercing his heart, that’s the worst part of all of this.”

“Doh?” Bilbo echoed.

“It means ‘stupid fool’.” Orí supplied with amusement.

“Ah.” Bilbo nodded, tucking away that word for future reference. “Yes, he was rather lucky…” he agreed; focus back on Thorin who was discussing with Dwalin about the removal of the rubble and the plans of renovation. “Can this place really be rebuilt?”

“Yazârnu sanzigil makhaha nimthurul 'abban.” Balin spoke softly, before translating for Bilbo. “Even mithril is found amongst plain stone.”

“It will take time.” Fíli answered clearly. “But we will do it. This is our home… We built it once, and we will rebuild it once again.”

“Right.” Bilbo nodded, clearing his throat as he peeked back up at Thorin. “You will.”

Slipping away from the group unseen Bilbo walked across the floor of gold, reminiscent from their battle with Smaug within these very halls. Staring at his reflection he let out a long sigh, realising that finally, his place amongst the Dwarves had come to an end. They no longer required his somewhat questionable ‘burglar’ expertise, nor was there particularly any place _for_ a Hobbit amongst Dwarves.

“You seem lost, Bilbo.”

Turning at the familiar voice Bilbo felt his face light up in a smile.

“Gandalf! You have been busy, I see.” He gestured towards the sacks of vegetables Gandalf carried.

“It seems the Elves of Mirkwood are very forthcoming with their gifts in thanks for my assistance in the healing tent. Kind gestures but…” The old wizard wrinkled his nose. “I’m not sure I could eat this must lettuce in this lifetime of mine, however long it might be.”

“I don’t blame you, old friend. I had more than my fair share of greens during our months spent in Rivendel.”

“Ah, yes. That was a trying time for our Dwarven friends.” Gandalf chuckled at the memory.

Bilbo sighed as he remembered that time fondly – how Thorin had become even surlier without meat - and felt a pang of longing for their past ventures together.

“I should start making paces home.” Bilbo admitted to Gandalf. “I don’t belong here.”

“Don’t you? It seems to me that the Dwarves have become quite fond of you.”

“And I of them, Gandalf. But look around us-“ He gestured to the stone. “- This isn’t the right place for a Hobbit.”

“Then what _is_ the ‘right place’ for a Hobbit?” Gandalf asked with a small frown.

“Home! The Shire… Baggend.” Bilbo shoved his hand into his pocket and toyed with the ring inside it for comfort. “I belong there. Not here.”

“Are you certain of that?”

Bilbo looked away. “Of course I am.”

Yet, he wasn’t. Once, long ago, he was so sure his place was back in Bagend that he had looked forward to the completion of this quest during their journey to Erebor. But all that had changed as he’d come to know the Dwarves – and one certain Dwarf in particular. Things had been awkward between him and Thorin since they’d returned to Erebor, and Bilbo suspected it had everything to do with him handing the Arkenstone over to Bard, who still had possession of it as far as he knew.

Things could never be the same between them, Bilbo was positive, not since he’d broken Thorin’s trust.

“I have made up my mind.” Bilbo told Gandalf with conviction. “Tomorrow before dawn, I shall leave.”

“Very well.” Gandalf nodded. “I shall accompany you. It just so happens I am journeying that way.”

Bilbo swallowed thickly and held the ring in his palm, hidden away in his pocket. It was about time he left Erebor, because maybe then he could stop thinking about Thorin… And the guilt he felt whenever he saw the _look_ in the Dwarven King’s eyes. But most of all, Bilbo needed time to sort through his own mixed emotions.

He was happy Thorin survived, despite his near-death battle with Azog, and yet he still couldn’t help feel overwhelming anxiety whenever Thorin was out of his sight, the same emotion he had when Thorin had been fighting Azog. He remembered vividly Thorin’s dark words to him on the wall, the betrayal in the King’s eyes and the distrust he still had in them when he looked at him now. But most of all, Bilbo couldn’t help but the tremendous feeling of loss he experienced around Thorin, knowing that no matter what happens; the two were never meant to reach this point in time.

Thorin is supposed to rule Erebor. Bilbo is supposed to return to Bagend. It’s simple; it’s how things should be.

So why does it hurt Bilbo so much to realise it?

 

 -----

 

< **Thranduil** >

 

“Any word from the King under the Mountain?” Thranduil asked Bard as the two sat in his private tent.

“No… I half expected him to enquire about the Arkenstone the first opportunity he got but so far – nothing.”

“Give him time.”

“Unlike you, _my Lord_ , we men don’t have all that much time.” Bard rubbed his finger across his chin anxiously. “We’re short on food and we need their help in rebuilding Dale. We can’t do it alone.”

“Indeed you can’t and when Thorin agrees to pay you your share of the promised gold, my offer to trade food is still open. You know that.”

“And I am grateful for all that your people have already offered us.” Bard told the Mirkwood King truthfully. “Without your aid, we wouldn’t be alive.”

“If only a certain Dwarven Lord would realise this, also.” Thranduil mused as he poured himself a glass of wine and offered Bard one. “It seems to me that his pride is getting the better of him. A debilitating personality trait of his, to be sure.”

“Where is Gandalf?” Bard enquired as he accepted the goblet. “I thought he agreed to sit council for us?”

“He has gone to Erebor to persuade the Dwarven King to attend.” Thranduil took a long drink of his wine. “I assume your title as ‘King of Dale’ is official, then?”

Bard flushed at the memory of the makeshift ‘coronation’ his people had arranged, declaring him to be their King and lead them in the rebuilding of Dale. It was a title he still wasn’t accustomed too and yet one his children had been most proud of. Lowering his gaze Bard gazed into his goblet of wine almost solemnly.

“It is official.”

“Then I also assume you haven’t much experience governing a populace?”

“Of course I haven’t!” Bard scoffed. “I was Bard the Bowman until yesterday eve. I was not raised to lead.”

“And yet you manage to do it so well…” Thranduil mused.

“Do I? Bard scowled across the tent. “I lead my people here to Dale, and look what happened? We were dragged into a War we had no business being a part of.”

“Yet that effort secured you a home did it not? Where would your people have gone, if not to Dale? Bree?” Thranduil sneered at the thought. “Your people would have died of starvation and exhaustion before you even cleared Mirkwood without our aid.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Bard snapped, slamming his drink down on a wooden table. “You think I don’t know that we’d all be dead without your help? I promised you we would repay your kindness and we will!”

“There is no rush, King.”

“Because you’re an Elf, you live longer than us. I get it.” Bard stood up and angrily began to pace the tent. “You have all the time you need to get your peoples affairs in order, but me? I’m already half-way through my life-span and I need to make sure my people are set up in a society that functions, that is safe for them and my children. I have to arrange food trade, building supplies, education for the young ones, work-rolls for the able and-”

His voice cut off as he felt cool, long fingers wrap around his upper arm. Turning he found the elven king staring down at him intently, dark brows furrowed.

“You are not alone, Bard the Dragonslayer. You have me to council you in these matters.”

“That isn’t your duty.” Bard frowned. “You owe no allegiance to use. You did not come here to aid us, you said it once, remember?”

They both fell silent as they remembered that fateful time. The lives lost, the anguish felt… Bard turned away from Thranduil in despair as he recalled the screams of fear from his children, the bodies littering the city and the grief felt from all when it was all over. The Dwarves may have reclaimed their home, but at what cost?

“I know what I said.” Thranduil murmured. “But things have changed.”

Looking up sharply Bard tried to read the emotion behind the Elven King’s masked eyes.

“What’s changed?” He enquired.

Thranduil smirked and dropped his hand from Bard’s, returning to his throne gracefully. Picking up his goblet he stared down into the pale pink wine and sighed.

“What’s changed indeed…” He mused.   

 

 

* * *

 

 

Phrases / words used:

 

  * Emyn-nu-Fuin – Mountains of Mirkwood
  * Naugrim - Dwarf
  * Aier – short one
  * Gi nathlam hí – You are welcome here
  * Mae g'ovannen! – Well met!
  * Hîr vuin – My Lord
  * Yazârnu sanzigil makhaha nimthurul 'abban – Even mithril is found amongst plain stone
  * Doh – Stupid fool



 

\-----

 

\-----

 


	2. Márienna || Towards Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is too busy establishing his reign and hiding from his shame to face Bilbo.
> 
> Bard is too caught up in trying to be a good King to see Thranduil is manipulating him.
> 
> Legolas is too concerned in teaching Estel to notice his outlook on life has changed.
> 
> Kíli is too focused on his Princely duties to give Tauriel the relationship she envisioned 
> 
> Fíli is too caught up in the pretty Blonde-Princess to do anything useful in Erebor. 
> 
> \--
> 
> This is BOTFA post-war, where Thorin, Kíli & Fíli all lived to see the end. Relationships will become strained, friendships will be tested and most of all: everyone will find their rightful place.

< **Bard** >

 

Pacing his new home, Bard stared around at the halls of the castle that, once upon a time, had been beautiful. The whole city had been a sight to behold, built with a gentle grandeur that embellished the finest of both man and Dwarven architecture alike. And now, it lay in ruin, ravaged by a Dragon and a second time by an Orc invasion. With a weary sigh Bard sank down on the crumbled remains of what had once been his ancestor- _Girion’s_ –throne and contemplated where to even start with the rebuilding of Dale.

So far people had claimed their homes on a first serve basis, leaving some in larger homes than others. The system had soon been declared unfair, with larger families arguing over the larger Dwarven Mansions and the once-wealthy Lords of Lake Town demanding equal grande housing to match the riches they once obtained. Everyone was in disarray, all wanting his council and demanding that he be the one to decide. 

It was, Bard knew, a complete and utter riot out there, with people constantly hounding for his attention and judgement on what he would call matters of no real priority. His real concern lied in finding materials, first of which were needed to rebuild the city in at least some semblance of its former glory. Then there was finding the man-power to actually begin the repairs, since the people of Dale hadn’t exactly been builders. Bard had plenty of fishermen, farmers and seamstresses, but skilled stone masons, blacksmiths and most importantly as of late; healers were few and short between. The Elven healers had worked wonders – Gandalf the grey too had been a help, but if Dale wanted to get back on its feet it’s people needed to become independent.

And there lied the problem.

Bard had no idea how to get his people trained in the skills required, how to rebuild the city with such little supplies and how to ensure everyone had a home that suited their needs. He had no idea how to govern these people and with all the statesmen and advisors gone he had no-one to help counsel him, either. 

Except… There was one person who could help him. 

“Sigrid?” Bard called out to his eldest daughter who was sweeping the ‘throne room’ with a makeshift broom.

“What’s wrong?” She came over to him obediently.

“I need you to deliver a message to Lord Thrandruil for me, please.” Reaching into his long jacket pocket Bard drew out a crumpled scrap of parchment and the end of a piece of coal. He scribbled out a quick message before handing it to his daughter. “Make sure he and he alone receives it. Deliver it to his hand personally, you understand?”

“Of course, Da.” Accepting the piece of parchment Sigrid rushed out of the castle and down the steep stone steps outside it, where she weaved her way around the rubble of the fallen city.

Sitting back in his throne Bard let out a puff of air. No doubt the Elven Lord would return his message with a sarcastic one of his own, amusing himself over Bard's predicament, but Bard was beyond embarrassment or shame anymore. His people needed the help and if Thranduil was in a nice enough mood to offer it - he would accept. He recalled the strange conversation they'd had in Thranduil's tent yesterday, the way the Elven Lord had become quiet and thoughtful, casting him loaded looks which Bard had no idea how to decipher. _Perhaps he had changed_ , Bard mused, _maybe he will help me - help us_...

Then again, the chances of that were very, very slim.

 

\---

 

< **Bilbo** >

 

“Are you ready?” Galdalf asked Bilbo as they met outside the gates of Erebor. “Don’t you want to wait to give a proper farewell?”

With his backpack on and his things contained within, Bilbo nodded his head.

“No, it’s best that we go whilst they feast. They won’t notice I’m gone” He took a step forward when a voice calling his name reached his ears, halting him in his tracks. Turning around, he found the Dwarves of the company gathered by the gate - minus Thorin. “I… I thought you were all feasting.” Bilbo exclaimed. 

“I’m sure you did, Lad.” Balin smiled. “But food can wait.”

“I’m sorry to leave so suddenly.” Bilbo told them all uneasily. “But I must return to my home in Bag End. It's time.”

"Must you?" Fíli asked. "Can't you just stay here, instead?"

Bilbo almost laughed at the suggestion, since it was coming from the wrong Dwarf. If it had been- no, Bilbo stopped himself sternly. He refused to think of _him_ right now.

"I must go." He said instead. 

“Then we will miss you.” Kíli told him honestly. “Safe journey, _samman_  .”

“For all that you have done, how could we ever repay you?” Fíli enquired in all seriousness.

“I have been paid enough. I have my share, after all.” Patting his money pouch they all laughed at the sound of the coins clanking. “And anyway, I’ve many new stories to tell the other Hobbits back at the Shire and if any of you are passing Bag End… Well, tea is at four – there’s plenty of it. You’re welcome anytime.” Looking between them all he fixed his gaze on Dwalin and winked. “Oh and… Don’t bother knocking.”

Again everyone chuckled at the memory – especially Dwalin, who had been the first of the company to greet Bilbo that fateful day, many months ago. Giving the Dwarves one final wave, Bilbo turned and followed Gandalf away from Erebor, his heart feeling slightly lighter after saying his goodbyes.

“Will you ever come back and visit?” Gandalf enquired as they walked away.

“Perhaps.” Bilbo lied. “Though I can’t see why they’d want a Hobbit walking about their halls. Our adventure has ended, there is no need for me back in Erebor.”

“You were more than a burglar to them, Bilbo. You know that.”

Bilbo didn’t answer, because the one person who he had needed to assure him of his place amongst them hadn’t been there to confirm it. The absence of Thorin hadn’t been a surprise, but it had still hurt all the same. Even Kíli, as wounded as he was had come to bid him farewell and though Bilbo couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of work Thorin must have on his plate, he’d still hoped the Dwarven King could have spared a moment to come see him one last time.

“Should you ever require a bugler for anymore adventures… I should hope you will come offer me the position first, Gandalf.” Bilbo joked as way to change the subject. “I somehow found myself quite good at it.”

“Indeed you were, Bilbo. Much better than I would have imagined…”

Slipping his hand into his pocket Bilbo smiled to himself as he felt the familiar smoothness of the ring. It was his new safety blanket, the one thing he would feel for whenever he felt troubled. Often he would find himself simply admiring it, hours ticking by without him even noticing it. Magic Rings were indeed rare and Bilbo was beginning to count his blessings that he had acquired this one, as it had been vital in their adventure thus far.

“I don’t suppose you’re hungry?” Gandalf asked after a brief pause.

Looking up Bilbo laughed at the carrot stick Gandalf was offering to him. He had a feeling this journey home was going to be a very healthy one.

 

\----

 

< **Sigrid** >

 

On the outskirts of what had been, days before, a bloodied battlefield, Sigrid found Lord Thranduil’s huge tent easily and smiled up at the guard stood outside it.

“I have a message for Lord Thranduil from my Da- I mean, King Bard, the Dragon Slayer.” She felt herself flush with pride at her Father’s title.

“The Lord is busy.” The straight-faced Elven Guard informed her. “Come back later.”

“But the King ordered-”

“Come back later.” The guard repeated more firmly.

Crossing her arms Sigrid narrowed her eyes and settled herself in for a long wait. She was pretty sure she saw the guard’s lips tilt up, but on closer inspection he was as sour faced as he was before. Sighing she began using the time to observe the elven camp, at the golden armoured guards walking around and the silver ones who eyed her with curiosity. Whilst she was distracted the tent’s flap opened and the one rushing out collided with her, knocking Sigrid off balance. She only just managed to find her footing, but the stumbling caused mud to splash up her long skirt.

“Oh no!” Sigrid cried. “This is my last clean one!”

“Sorry, M’Lady.” Looking up sharply she found herself staring into a pair of blue eyes.

“Oh! I know you!” She realised in awe. “You’re the King Under The Mountains nephew!”

Surprise flickered over the handsome Dwarve’s features. “Yes… I am. Forgive me; I’m afraid I never caught your name…?”

“Sigrid. You were in my house in Lake Town with that other Dwarf… The brown haired one who was injured.”

The Dwarf cocked his head to the side and studied her closer. “You are daughter of Bard the Bowman?” His eyes suddenly lit up with realisation. “Yes! I remember – you aided my brother, Kíli! And I helped you into the boat when we were fleeing Lake Town...” He smiled at her fully. “It’s good to see you have made it through this all unscathed.”

Sigrid felt her face flush under his smile and averted her gaze quickly. “Yes, thanks to you and your kin. I am very thankful.”

Fíli averted his gaze at the mention of the battle, feeling the guilt of his people over what had become of the people of Laketown – now the people of Dale. Shuffling his feet a little he felt an overwhelming need to make it up to this girl, whose Father had not only slain the Dragon Smaug, but who she herself helped save his brother that fateful day at her home. Steeling his nerves he looked her again in the eye and took in the flush on her pretty face.

“Would you care for a stroll M’lady?” He asked her with his best smile.

This time it was Sigrid’s turn to avert her gaze.

“I’d like that very much… _Prince_.”

“Then let’s go. Perhaps you could tell me all about this city you have called your own.”

Sigrid frowned at the request, since she knew Dwarves like Prince Fíli had long ago lived in Erebor and had, therefore, known all about Dale. Was he feigning ignorance for her sake? Hesitating as Fíli began to set off on their walk she glanced back at the tent Thranduil was in and the letter she was supposed to deliver. No doubt Thranduil would give her a letter to return to her Father, and he in turn would have a reply, then another, then another-

“Is everything alright?” Fíli asked with concern.

Shaking off the thoughts of the letter Sigrid smiled.  “Yes, everything’s fine. Let’s go.”

Following the Dwarf closely she pushed the letter from her mind. She would deliver it later, after her walk. After all… How often was it a handsome Dwarven Prince invited Human Princesses on walks?

 

\---

 

< **Tauriel** >

 

“How is he?” She asked a passing Dwarf curiously.

“Prince Kíli?” Eying her suspiciously he backed away a few paces, his hand still on his sword. “Why are you asking, She-Elf?”

“I…” Biting her lip Tauriel turned away and fled back into Dale, annoyed at herself for not having the courage to ask.

She’d been unable to find out much from the Dwarves about Kíli’s condition, but from what she’d overheard from a few passing Healer Elves, he had been discharged from the healing tent and was back in Erebor – where he belonged. Being back in this place was making it even clearer to Tauriel just how different their lives were, even more-so considering she was no longer welcome amongst the Elves and certainly unwelcome to enter Erebor without a fight.

“Tauriel!” Glancing up at her name being called, she smiled at the small Human girl rushing towards her.

“Tilda!” She smiled as she recognised the young girl. “How have you been?”

“I am good! How is your Dwarf friend you healed? I heard he was hurt again.”

“You mean Kíli. He is… He is fine. In fact, I hear he’s back in Erebor now, as we speak.”

Tilda looked relieved. “I’m so glad. What about you, was you hurt?”

“No, little one. I am fine.” Ruffling the young girl’s blonde hair Tauriel felt a swell of affection.

No-one but Legolas had bothered to see if she had been alright after her battle Bolg. Although Tauriel had been forced to flee that fight, dragging an impaled Kíli with her, it hadn’t meant she’d felt any better. She’d been lucky Thranduil and his men had been coming to their aid at that moment, otherwise the Dwarven Prince wouldn’t have lived. But he had. And Tauriel had been left feeling bitter after hearing Legolas had killed Bolg and not her. She’d wanted to be the one to kill the creature; and yet she’d missed her opportunity.

“Where were you going?” Tilda asked Tauriel, breaking her out of her dark thoughts.

“I was just preparing to leave. I’m afraid there’s no place for me here anymore.”

“What? No!” Tilda cried, rushing forward to grasp Tauriel’s hands in her own. “You can’t go! You haven’t seen Kíli yet, or seen my sister, or seen my dad –he’s the King now, you know – and there’s the Elven King who my sister Sigrid said-”

“Slow down.” Tauriel chuckled. “You talk too fast, little one.”

“I just… I don’t want you to go.” Looking down the young Human girl began to scuff her shoes against the ground. “I… I was hoping you might teach me more about Healing.”

Taurial raised an eyebrow. “You wish to become a Healer?”

“I want to be able to help people, in case something like this happens again.” Tauriel felt a wave of sympathy for the young girl who had, in the space of a few days, had her home destroyed, moved to a completely new town and then had that one stormed by Orcs. “I hat seeing all the sick and injured people. Right now there’s nothing I can do to help anyone. Nobody needs me.”

 _Just like me_ , Tauriel realised. _Nobody needs me anymore, either_.

“I’ll teach you.” She agreed immediately. “I’m not a scholar nor have I any experience, but I will teach you what I know.”

The young girls face lit up with excitement. “Really? You’ll do that?”

“Or course. I will find a place for me to teach you now.” The girl girl nodded her head vigorously.

It would, Tauriel realised, also give her a place to stay, since living amongst the Elves was no longer an option. 

“I’ll help you look. My dad told me to offer my assistance at the wash house but…” The young girl crinkled her nose. “I hate washing clothes.”

“Then let’s go find a suitable classroom.” Taking the young girls offered hand Tauriel set off through the streets of Dale, dodging rubble and debris looking for the perfect building to suit as both a classroom and her temporary home.

“Will you teach me your language, too?” Tilda asked as they walked. “It sounds so magical!”

“You mean Sindarin?” Tauriel considered the request for a moment. “Náto… I can certainly try. But it’s a very hard language to learn, or so I’m told.”

“I’m a fast learner.” The little Human Princess assured her quickly. “And I promise I’ll study hard!”

Taurial smiled at the young girls enthusiasm. The situation wasn’t exactly ideal – she wanted to be far from Kíli, Thranduil and even the people of Dale ideally – but at the same time, the thought of educating the young Human girl gave Tauriel a purpose she didn’t have before. Now she could be useful and maybe, in time… She too, would discover where she belonged.

 

 

* * *

 

 

** Words / Phrases used: **

 

Dawongi -- Friend

Náto -  Yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[ For the sake of my fic, Tilda is 9 and Sigrid is 17. ]]


	3. Abarad || Until Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is too busy establishing his reign and hiding from his shame to face Bilbo.
> 
> Bard is too caught up in trying to be a good King to see Thranduil is manipulating him.
> 
> Legolas is too concerned in teaching Estel to notice his outlook on life has changed.
> 
> Kíli is too focused on his Princely duties to give Tauriel the relationship she envisioned
> 
> Fíli is too caught up in the pretty Blonde-Princess to do anything useful in Erebor.
> 
> \--
> 
> This is BOTFA post-war, where Thorin, Kíli & Fíli all lived to see the end. Relationships will become strained, friendships will be tested and most of all: everyone will find their rightful place.

 

<  **Bilbo** >

 

Home, at last!

Well, what was left of his home, anyway? After using a huge chunk of his share to purchase back his furniture (which was sold!), Bilbo now had the task of putting everything back where it belonged, since the Hobbits who had so eagerly auctioned off his goods hadn’t had the decency to help him put everything back.

Checking the draws of his table he muttered a curse as he realised most of his stuff had been removed from inside it, despite him buying it back. Patting his coin bag Bilbo knew it would take a lot more than gold to get his life back together, though Gold had so far proved to solve many of his problems. But despite his easier lifestyle, he missed the rowdiness of the Dwarves, the complete battle over food during meal times and the way they each drank their way through barrels of wine and beer like it was spring water.

His house was quiet.  _Too_  quiet.

Putting down the things he’d brought back from his adventure he began the tedious task of arranging it all, sealing the more memorable things – like the mithril chainmail Thorin had given him – into chests, the memories it brought him causing him to re-think his decision to return to Bag End. But he didn’t have time to second-guess the choice anymore. He was back, he was home… And Thorin hadn’t once messaged him.

So, that was that.

He busied himself in writing down his journeys, first on bits of scrap parchment and then finally – into a plan for a novel he decided to pen during his free time. He began withdrawing visuals of the journey, high-lighting the key events until he began to notice a pattern in his sketches:

They were all of a certain King Under The Mountain.

Thorin arriving at his door. Thorin beside the camp fire before they were attacked by trolls. Thorin in Rivendell, complaining about the lack of meat. Thorin at the edge of the Misty Mountains, Thorin fighting trolls, Thorin fighting Azog, Thorin embracing him at the top of the peek after being dropped off by the Eagles,  _Thorin_   _Thorin_   _Thorin_ …

Staring down at his many pieces of art Bilbo huffed in annoyance. This just wouldn’t do! Collecting all the papers up in a pile he shoved them in one of his many trunks, which he kicked under his desk for good measure. He needed a new outlet; he needed something to do with his time other than draw pictures of  _him_.

He had his gardening, of course, but as of late his garden was immaculate. With the left-over gold he had from re-buying all of his furniture, Bilbo had found himself more wealthy than any Hobbit should ever desire to be. He didn’t have to work, never had to worry about the cost of food and suddenly he had enough spare time to work on his garden, his books (and his drawings of Thorin…) to last him ten lifetimes. His days had become a repetitive loop that was a complete turnaround to how he’d spent his days with the Dwarves.

And if he had to admit it, he was quite frankly  _bored_.

It wasn’t until he received a mysterious letter in his post box that he felt a swell of happiness. As he opened it swiftly with his letter opener he prayed it was from Erebor... But was surprised who it was from.

> _Mr Baggins,_
> 
> _I am writing to request your expertise in assisting me in my position as Mirkwood’s new Captain of the Guard. If you should agree to this request, please meet our arranged transportation in Bree._
> 
> _-_ _Yours, Calanon._

Blinking at the letter Bilbo felt the thrill of adventure seeping through him once again. It wasn’t a request from Erebor, but it was from Mirkwood – which was close enough. He could go to the meeting in Mirkwood – though he had no idea what ‘expertise’ they were talking about nor how he could be of any assistance what’s so ever – and perhaps stop by Erebor on the way back. Not to see Thorin, he argued with himself as he began to pack his belongings, but to see his other friends; Kíli, Fíli, Dwalin, Balin, Orí, Norí, Bofur-

\- Oh, and maybe to see how Thorin was. Just just to check, of course. 

 

_\---_

< **Kíli** >

 

“Ouch!” He whined as the healing-dwarf patched up his wound. “Be a little gentler.”

“Hush now, Prince.” The blonde-bearded Dwarf snapped in return, shooting him a scowl for good measure. “You’re lucky to even feel this pain, so count your blessings!”

Kíli looked away in exasperation. That’s all everyone did of late; tell him how grateful he should be all the time. But Kíli was finding it hard to be greatful about anything, not with a hole running through his body – courtesy of Bolg’s spear – nor of the fact that since he was injured, everyone was treating him like some invalid. He was lucky he’d been allowed out of his room to say goodbye to Bilbo the way everyone was babying him, especially Dorí  and Bifur who very rarely left his side.

Speaking of those two…

“There you are!” Dorí exclaimed. “We have work to do.”

Kilí groaned and turned his face in the opposite direction. “I don’t want to.” He muttered.

“Now now.” Bifur scolded him like the child he was acting. “Even you need to pull your weight.”

 _Except when it came to the actual work that needed doing_ , Kilí thought bitterly, like the rebuilding of the halls and the strengthening of the defences. Everyone was doing their bit – except for him. Curse this damn injury and curse Bolg for inflicting it! But most of all he cursed himself for being foolish enough to be impaled.

“I hate reading documents.” Kíli scowled. “I want to be out there, helping everyone.”

“When you are fully healed you can do.” Dorí attempted to sooth. “But right now you need to focus on your recovery.”

“Where’s Filí?” He asked quickly. “What’s my brother doing to ‘pull his weight’?”

“Your brother has been running messages and councils with Thranduil… Though of late he’s been suspiciously absent.”

This caught Kilí’s attention. “Absent doing what?”

“Who knows?” Bofur shrugged.  “It’s not our place to ask. Now… Here’s your task for today, young Prince.” A stack of papers was thrust onto Kilís bed.

“I’ll be back in a few hours to see what you think, hmm?” Dorí winked.

The two left him at least alone in the room with the papers and Kilí scowled at how many there were. Trade agreements, inventory, hall-expansion ideas… He had no idea how they expected him to do this kind of thing, he was better working with his hands; building, mining, digging… This scroll-pushing was more Dorí expertise.

And yet, Kilí had to pull his weight. He’d never hated that phrase more than he did now, not when he wanted to help pull his weight – only doing something other than signing documents and having opinions on matters he never thought he’d be included in. _Thorin should be doing this_ , he thought moodily as he picked up the first sheet, _why am I always left with the worst jobs_?

Ever since Bilbo had left Thorin had become even more of a recluse, if that was possible. Kilí knew his uncle felt remorse over how he had treated them, how he had acted and the actions he'd taken, but his apology had been widely accepted. It was as if Thorin needed the Hobbit's forgiveness before he could fully forgive himself, which of course made the whole thing that more complicated, since Bilbo had left before he could get it. Something about the two of them felt off to Kilí, like there was some kind of tension between the two that he couldn't pin-point the cause of. He suspected it had something to do with Thorin's battle with Azog, though like the others he was too cautious around his brooding uncle to ask outright.

There was also the case of Kilí's own conflicting emotions...

Biting his lip he remembered the way Tauriel had abandoned her station – her own duty – just to come help him. He wished he could be as strong as she was, sacrificing everything for love. But duty was his priority, even if it did mean leaving behind a She-Elf he was sure he was in love with. Kilí had wanted to run away with her when he’d first woken up in the Healing tent, had wanted nothing more than to be with her, but one look in his brothers fearful eyes and his uncles own wounds had made Kilí see how valuable family was.

He’d almost lost them – had almost lost his own life. His family needed him – Thorin needed him and as much as it killed Kilí to have to Dorí and Bofur shove papers at him instead of a pick-axe, he would do it…

… Just like how he would abandon his love for Tauriel for duty. Now he just had to take things one day at a time and prey he would heal quickly. Only then could he feel of use to his people, and perhaps put a stop to everyone's worrying. 

 

\---

 

<  **Thranduil**  >

 

“No word?” Thranduil confirms with his guard.

“None, my Lord. Though a young Human girl came here just before the Dwaf’s leave. It seemed she had a message for you – though left without delivering it.”

 “How fickle Humans can be.”

“My Lord?”

“Where is the Dragon Slayer?”

“He’s in his castle, my Lord. He hasn’t left this morning yet.”

“Let me know the moment he does.” Thranduil instructed. “I want to know where he is and what he is doing at all times.”

Waving his hand to dismiss the Guard, he waited until the door to his private tent closed before scowling in frustration. He had thought the new-King would have come to him for help by now and the fact that he hadn’t frustrated Thranduil. Humans were such complex creatures, it was often difficult to predict how they would react and respond to situations when to Thranduil, the choice was obvious. He’d dropped enough hints, made himself accessible by remaining here close to the Dwarven idiots, had agreed to attend all councils the Human arranged to make sure he appeared helpful…

So, why wasn’t Bard here yet, begging for his help?

“My Lord?” Loking towards the tent flap Thranduil watched as it opened and the guard from earlier returned. “I have received word about Tuariel.”

Thranduil raised a brow. “Has she separated from Legolas?”

Last he’d heard, Tauriel had travelled with Legolas towards Rivendell, following the information he’d provided his son.

“Yes, Mr Lord. It seems she’s returned to Dale. She was seen walking the streets with Princess, Tilda.”

Tilda… That name was the one Bard had once used for his youngest daughter. What purpose could Tauriel have with the Human girl? Nodding to his guard to relay the message given, he began to ponder what exactly Tauriel could be planning. Since banishing her, Thranduil hadn’t given much thought to Tauriel, not after their talk in the healing tent…

_“Tauriel.” The red-haired Elf spun around to face her former-King, her eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”_

_“I… I had to make sure he would be okay.” She whispered, turning her gaze back down to the unconscious Dwarf. “He was badly injured… I barely managed to get him away alive.”_

_“He will survive.” Thranduil reminded her – he’d overheard his Healer-Elves discussing the Dwarven Prince’s condition._

_“I know. But it still hurts, seeing him lying here like this and knowing there is nothing I can do.” Turning to face him again Thranduil saw the tears sparkling in her blue eyes. “If this is love – I do not want it!”_

_He felt a slash of compassion for his former Captain of the Guard, her eyes reflecting the inner torment he suffered daily at the loss of his own True Love. The Dwarf could never compare to his wife, of course, but Thranduil knew well the feeling of loss at seeing a loved one hurt – and the helpless feeling that came with knowing you could not do anything to ease their suffering._

_“Take it from me, please.” Tauriel whispered suddenly, before her voice rose into a cry. “Why does it hurt so much?”_

_“Because it was real.” He answered simply, neither his voice nor his expression revealing his true sympathy._

_Turning away from her he was stopped by her voice._

_“What now?” She asked him._

_Not turning around Thranduil closed his eyes._

_“You must find your place.”_ Without us _were his unspoken words, but it was clear from her sharp intake of breath she understood._

_Sympathy for her plight was all that kept Thranduil for killing his former captain for her betrayal – that and his son’s misplaced affection. Striding out of the tent Thranduil spoke loudly to his guard outside, ensuring Tauriel overheard._

_“Where is Legolas?”_

_“He was speaking with Gandalf earlier, though it seems he has set off towards Ridendell, my Lord.”_

_Inclining his head Thranduil smiled as he walked away from the tent, content she had heard enough._

Blinking himself back to the present, Thranduil scowled. The former Captain of the Guard was supposed to be either journeying with Legolas or off finding her own place – away from Mirkwood and away from himself. As much as he had sympathised with the girl, he couldn’t go back on his word or risk seeming as though he favoured her – which he didn’t, of course. Thranduil ruled his people with a firm, consistent hand and that included his kin.

It was, he mused, the first lesson he’d be teaching Bard… Whenever the messaged him, that was. But he would, in time… Just like Tauriel would soon learn not to take his kindness for granted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- The times lines for each POV don't always add up, as you'll notice. Bilbo is a little ahead of the others, as his journey TOO Mirkwood and his time there will take a while, therefore the Dwarves activities will have to be spaced out, along with Thranduil's, Bards etc. I hope it won't become too complicated? 
> 
> I am thinking of writing a one-shot about how the battle ended exactly...


	4. Detholalle | Your Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is too busy establishing his reign and hiding from his shame to face Bilbo.
> 
> Bard is too caught up in trying to be a good King to see Thranduil is manipulating him.
> 
> Legolas is too concerned in teaching Estel to notice his outlook on life has changed.
> 
> Kíli is too focused on his Princely duties to give Tauriel the relationship she envisioned
> 
> Fíli is too caught up in the pretty Blonde-Princess to do anything useful in Erebor.
> 
> \--
> 
> This is BOTFA post-war, where Thorin, Kíli & Fíli all lived to see the end. Relationships will become strained, friendships will be tested and most of all: everyone will find their rightful place.

< **Legolas** >

 

Pacing his room Legolas tried to make sense of how everything had become. He had travelled to Rivendell, expecting to meet a man – an heir of Arathorn who Legolas would… Well, he had no clue what was expected of him when he met Arathorn’s heir; council him, perhaps? Shaking his head Legolas’ mind moved to the memory of Tauriel stroking her Dwarvish lover’s hair, his body pale and shivering from his wound. And yet… He’d lived. Legolas had expected… No, _hoped_ for him to perish, a thought that even now haunted him. Had he always been so dark, so cruel?

 _How far I have fallen_ … Legolas mused. And for what? _Love_? No… Legolas knew he did not love Tauriel – not truly. What he had wanted from her had been her companionship, a fellow being by his side who understood how strained his family dynamic had been. They had shared many memories, the two of them, and as such Legolas had watched her grow into an adept worrier and an even finer She-Elf. He had desired her, it was true, had even expected her to become his one day so to lose her to a Dwarf of all races?

That had been the hardest blow of all.

Sitting up from his bed he pulled on the silken garbs the Elves of Rivendell had provided him and stalked from his chambers, the halls quiet and still. Making his way to the courtyard he had seen Estel in yesterday he found the boy training alone, the sun not yet risen. Concealed by the shadows he watched the child attack the wooden target with force, his chest heaving and his hair sticking to his face with sweat. _He’s determined_ , Legolas noted.

He sensed another approach, though did not turn to face the newcomer.

“Impressive, isn’t he?”

“Indeed.” Legolas agreed. “He is also very _young_.”

“My Father told me you came here expecting a man. Is the boys age a problem for you, Greenleaf?”

Turning around Legolas stared Elladan, his likeness to his Father uncanny. Smirking he gestured to the boy and raised a simple brow.

“He is not _my_ problem, Elladan. He is not anything to me.”

“Ah, but he _is_ your student now. Didn’t you hear Father?” Elladan’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Don’t tell me you are unable to teach a simple child, Legolas?”

“Don’t be absurd!” Legolas huffed, growing irritated by the Elven Prince’s mockery. “It’s merely not my business – nor my place - to educate the child. He is-”

“You’re afraid.”

Legolas’ jaw clenched. “Tell me, Elladan, what exactly you think me afraid of?”

“The boy is an orphan, quite without living family. Father treats him as his own though it’s quite apparent to even him he is not one of us – he expresses that often enough, that he feels out of place amongst us. It’s clear that you fear teaching him because you see a part of yourself reflected in the boy – the part of you that longs for a loving Father and Mother, that you grieve for the past you missed. He is much alike you are now, Legolas. Lost, confused, searching for his place in this world…”

“You talk nonsense!” Legolas snapped. “Do not think you know me, Elladan, because you will find that-”

“Elladan? Is that you?” Legolas turned to see the child walking towards them, confusion etched on his face. “What are you doing arguing in the shadows with my new teacher?”

“I am not your teacher.” Legolas assured the boy coldly, turning on his heel and storming off to find Ellrond.

“Legolas, wait!” He didn’t break stride, though it didn’t stop Elladan from quickly catching up to him. “Are you hoping to speak to my Father about this?”

“Of course.”

“Then it will have to wait. He’s away on important business.”

“What?” Halting his stride Legolas turned to stare at Elladan incredulously. “Why was I not informed?”

“I wasn’t aware my Father’s matters were to be put by you, first.”

Scowling at the annoying Elf Legolas hurried away to his chambers, where he quickly penned a letter to his Father. He would not teach this child – he refused. It was not his job, nor was it even his responsibility to make sure the child was properly educated. And as much as he didn’t want to return to Mirkwood, Legolas would rather do any other kind of task instead of this one. Imagine, expecting him to work with children! The thought made his scoff.

No… The Education of Estel, son of Arathorn, would not be done by him – and that was that.

 

\---

 

< **Bard** >

 

“Any news?”

“No, my King. We have not seen your daughter since she left here to travel to the Elven Lord’s camp.”

Bard cursed and pushed his long dark hair from his face. What was Thranduil playing at? It was a simple ‘ _yes’_ or ‘ _no’_ answer he’d required to his question; _will you help us_ _or not_? It wasn’t exactly a question that needed an essay as a reply. So what exactly was taking the Elven King so long? And where exactly was Sigrid? Was he making her wait whilst he pandered around, taking his time and drinking his stupid, delicious Elven wine?

“Prepare my horse.” Bard instructed at last. “Cancel any meetings I have arranged. I will speak to the Elven King in person.”

“Very well, my King.”

Storming out of the castle – if it could even be called that – and mounted his horse, where he charged towards Thranduil’s camp with a grim expression. Dismounting outside his personal tent he gave the guards stood outside a quick scowl before pushing open the flaps and strolling inside where he found Thranduil exactly where he knew he’d be: lounging across his throne leisurely drinking wine and eating from a bowel of grapes.

Clenching his jaw at the Elfs constant care-free attitude Bard helped himself to a goblet of wine for courage and downed its contents in one quick gulp before once again refilling it. All the while Thranduil watched him, one dark eyebrow raised and his lips tilted at the corners. The look made Bard even more irritated and unable to take the silence any longer he whirled to face the Elven King and only then did Thranduil speak.

“Ah, the Dragonslaying King! Pray what do I owe this _honour_?”

“Where is my daughter?” He demanded, stopping by the base of the throne. “I sent her here with a message hours ago!”

“I am not your children’s nanny.” Thranduil sneered. “Perhaps you should keep them watched if you’re so worried about them wandering off.”

“They do not _wander_ off.” Bard argued back. “I know _exactly_ where they are… Or I did, until Sigrid went missing delivering a message to _you_.”

“A King should always know what is happening on his Lands, Dragonslayer. Be it in relation to his kin or otherwise.”

Gritting his teeth in irritation Bard took the moment to refill his goblet with wine and drink it just as fast, the fruity taste masking the potency of the alcohol. It gave him the courage needed to speak his mind.

“These are my lands, Thranduil!”

The Elven King inclined his head. “Then I suppose my knowledge of where your children are is unimportant...” Swilling the wine around in his goblet Thranduil gave Bard a knowing smile. “ _Or_ I could just tell you… End your worrying...”

“Stop playing games.” Bard snapped. “Tell me where my daughter is!”

“Well that depends on _which_ daughter you refer to. Your youngest perhaps, who is currently in Dale consorting with my exiled Captain of the Guard, or perhaps the other, the older one?”

“That’s absurd! Tilda is volunteering at the-”

“Then your eldest daughter, who is currently strolling around Erebor with the Dwarven Prince Fíli? Is that the one you wish to discuss?”

Bard blinked at the Elven King. “How can you know all of this?”

Smirking Thranduil took a sip of his wine. “I know a lot of things. What you should be doing is asking the right questions.”

Bard wasn’t sure what the Elven King meant by ‘right questions’, not when there were many questions that were swirling around the King of Dale’s mind that seemed important. But right now his mind was slightly clouded from the potent wine (had it always been this strong?) though was compelled to pour himself another goblet. This time he sipped it, all the while with the Elven King watching him closely. Once he had finished the goblet he sighed warily.

“Did Sigrid at least deliver my message?” Bard asked at last.

“No, she did not. It seems she was distracted by the Dwarven Prince. Is this what you came here for in such a rush? To enquire whether I received your precious message?”

“I came here to find out why my daughter had not returned.” Frowning Bard pictured the Dwarven Prince in his mind. “You say she was gone somewhere with Fíli?”

“My Guards saw her leave with him. They say she looked quite smitten, in fact.”

Bard cursed again and marched over to the table in Thranduil’s tent, where he filled his goblet back up to the brim. Drinking it down in one he slammed the goblet down on the table and fixed Thranduil with what he hoped was his darkest look, which only seemed to make Thranduil more amused.

“I won’t allow it!” He exclaimed at last. “Haven’t the Dwarves caused enough trouble?” Pacing the tent Bard was muttering more to himself at this point than to Thranduil. “When will Thorin open these damn trade agreements so I can get things back to normal? My people need food! They need stable homes! They need to get back on their feet and I can’t do it!”

This caught Thranduil’s attention. “Can’t do what?”

“This! Rule them!” Slumping down onto a nearby chair Bard buried his face into his hands. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You, my naive King of Dale, are drunk.” Bard looked up sharply and noted that indeed, the edges of his vision were blurred and somewhat out of focused.

“How can you Elves stomach that stuff? You’re practically skin and bone.”

“We have a higher tolerance to alcohol.” Thranduil explained patiently as he seated himself beside Bard. “Now tell me, Dragonslayer, what did you message entail?”

 _Message_? Bard frowned, unable to recall what his message had said exactly. Something about help?

“Help.” He murmured at last, his voice thick. “I need your… Help.”

He jumped, startled at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder and turned sharply to see the Elven King looking at him intently, his long pale fingers resting on his shoulder. His lips curled up into a smile that was no longer amused but something different, something more... Suggestive. Swallowing thickly Bard was hit with the urge to move away, to put some space between them, but the look in Thranduil's eyes kept him grounded. 

“Then you have come to the right place, _Bard_.”

 

\---

 

< **Tauriel** >

 

 _This place is perfect_ , Tauriel noted as she looked around the decrepid remains of what had once been a library. Plenty of space, desks, even a few broken slates… Yes, this would do nicely. Blowing the dust of a map of Dale she smiled and turned to see what the young Princess thought of the place.

“It’s all dirty.” Tilda frowned.

“Nothing that can’t be cleaned.”

“And everythings broken.”

“We do not need much, most of this can be thrown out. We’ll keep only what’s needed.”

“There’s no place for you to sleep.”

Tauriel paused and looked around, noting that apart from the store room, there were no places for her to sleep. But that wouldn’t put a damper on her excitement.

“Then I shall have to make a place. That storeroom is cosy enough, I shall clear it out and find myself some blankets.”

Tilda didn’t look convinced, but after they spent the rest of the afternoon clearing out the broken furniture into the equally destroyed ‘garden’, the Elf and the Human girl stood to observe the spacious room that would soon be Tilda’s classroom.

“See? It’s perfect.” Tauriel breathed.

“I suppose…” Tilda frowned, drawing in the dust on the windowsill.

“Come along when you can tomorrow and you will see.”

“See what?”

“It’s a surprise.” Tauriel winked.

She offered to walk the young Princess back, but Tilda was too headstrong. Opting to travel back herself – and make a detour to the wash room – Tauriel waves her off before getting to work on her new place. Cleaning out the storage room, she managed to find in the cupboard, sealed away from destruction a mop, broom and a bucket, along with a still functioning well in the garden.

She swept the floors, washed the dust away, cleaned the two desks that remained and sorted through what books she managed to find. The storeroom was bare, save for a small table and the empty cupboard, so she spent what was rest of her time searching the empty homes around her classroom for furniture, managing to secure a side table, a few cooking utensils, a wash basin, some tatty, moth-eaten clothing and blankets along with a few more books. By the time evening began to set in, a dirty, dust smeared Tauriel stood admiring her new home, pleased by the progress she’d got done.

It was a far-cry from the home she had now left behind in Mirkwood, but it was also the first home she had created herself. It was hard not to feel a swell of admiration for it and the proudness she held for her ability to create it. She only hoped the young Princess would be just as pleased.

“Tauriel?” Turning around at her name being spoken softly she sound Prince Fíli and the other Human Princess, Sigrid, watching her with confusion. Were they... As her eyes focused on their sides she watched them separate quickly and noted that strangely, the two had been holding hands... Was she missing something? Since when had the two become more than just acquaintances? 

Nether the less, lowering the damp rag she had been using to clean the door frame Tauriel inclined her head in respect.

“Prince Fíli… Princess Sigrid. It's nice to see you both again under different circumstances." 

 _How is Kíli_? She wanted to ask desperately. _Is he doing well? Is his injury healing as it should? As he asked about me_? _  
_

“You came back?” Fíli blurted out before Sigrid could speak. “We thought you had followed Legolas! Had he known… You don’t know how excited my brother will be to learn that you are still-”

“No!” Tauriel exclaimed. “You must not tell him!”

“I don't understand... Aren’t you as pleased as he to meet again?”

Remembering Legolas’ words, Tauriel felt her heart ache in confliction. She wanted to be beside Kíli, to help him heal and keep him company, but she also understood that her place was not by his side. He was a Dwarven Prince and she… She was an exiled Elf. She did not belong in his world and to attempt to do so would only cause them both pain.

“I do not.” She told Fíli coldly. “I only wish to move on with my life… So I would appreciate your discretion, Prince. Kíli must not know I am here.”

“But he-”

“Please.” She begged quietly. “Do not tell him.”

Sighing Fíli nodded his head. “I won’t… But not for your sake, but his. He’s still injured and I don’t want him getting worked up about trying to persuade you. He needs to rest and heal.”

“My thanks, then.” She inclined her head again and retreated inside her home, where she leaned against the wall and felt the tears flow from her eyes as their footsteps moved on from outside her home. Kíli… Her beautiful Kíli… Sobbing she fell to the ground and hugged her knees to her chest, the memories they’d shared filling her with longing.

She’d almost lost him once… She could not go through with that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting an urge to write a stand-alone fic about Tauriel educating Tilda & meeting her new destiny haha ;_; Is there any other couplings anyone would like to see a one-shot/spin off of maybe? 
> 
> Once again, my fic is dedicated to my [FíliBae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmOwl) who is probably annoyed at me constantly running ideas by her XD 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this <3 Follow on Tumblr, where behind-the-scenes (?) snippets will be posted in due time along with ridiculous Hobbity posts. Check it out here: [PockyOwl](http://pockyowl.tumblr.com/)


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